The Kauri Ultra

It was not supposed to be like this.

This was the year I was going to cut back. Time to drop those longer, more grueling events and instead pick off a few sociable, local races.  Saturdays would no longer be planned around when I’d fit my 4-hour ‘long run’ in, but instead which café to grab my flat white from after finishing Park Run.

Where before I had chased vert in my weekday training, now I’d be running down 1km times; the buzz of feeling quick across the turf would surely quell this inveterate condition to chase the next improbable goal?

It made so much sense. I mean, I was still convinced I was probably really fast but had been sucked into something completely inappropriate for me; a square peg in a round hole. I was an ultramarathon fraud. A product of my environment with Rotorua getting its claws into my psyche. A fish out of water.

I’m a soccer player, that’s what I am. So from now on, I’d be inching out the seconds on some recreation field somewhere. I’d feel faster, younger and have more time for the family on the weekends. Why hadn’t I done this sooner?

But sometimes it’s just really hard to say ‘no’.

Have you ever been added to a messenger group and seen that first notification pop up on your phone? The one where you think “What’s this?” and stare at your phone with a suspicious sideways glance. Followed immediately by another notification from a familiar name, and then another, and then another.

By the time Ben started tagging my name, I already knew.

The Great Kauri Run. A 76km event that starts in Port Jackson at the northern most point of the Coromandel and winds it’s way down the peninsula to Coromandel Town; over ridges, across the sand, through native bush, and along coastal trails.

The more I read, the more I couldn’t believe what I was reading. The ultra distance only takes place every four years, and the 2014 results listed a field of just nine competitors. Traversing some of the most beautiful landscape anywhere in New Zealand, the elevation involved was a thing of legend and an incredible feel-good story of planting a kauri tree for every runner (to restore a lost forest of giants) made the package a running hipster’s dream.

Before long, the group we would take from Rotorua already matched the number of the previous ultra. And in the final days leading up to the race, we were able to draw on the experience of current course record holder, Kerry Suter, who gave us an evening dissecting the event and pointing out with the aid of Google Earth just how steep the hills were and exactly the points we were likely to call into question our life choices. 

The Dream Team

This advice was invaluable but also came too late for some of us, who were now agonising over a lack of specificity in our training.

“I wish I’d run more hills.”

Our club apparel was packed, we all bunked off work at midday on the Friday and soon we were in the van and on our way. After thousands of group messages, we could now enjoy each others company, in person!

It took us fully five hours to reach Coromandel Town, though this included numerous stops and many thousands of calories consumed at top nutritional outlets such as bakeries and chip shops. Not the first places you associate with a group of athletes, but who was I to argue.

Van shenanigans

On arriving, we walked into the sports hall where we collected our packs and, from there, made our way out to the buses which would transport us to Port Jackson. 

“A little under two hours” we were told, “and we should be there.”

Bags on laps and in aisles, the two crammed coaches took us through the last of the day’s light, winding their way through ever-tightening bends, into dusk, and towards the last frontier. I was rather glad it got dark quickly, sensing there was very little between the camber of the road and the drop-off out the window to my left… and certain death!

Beyond the charm of picking up my no 3 bib and the old-school coach journey, that promoted the same feelings of adventure as if an O.E in South America, was the very apparent personal touch that Andy, Keith, and Rita, the organisers, put in.

The race briefing took place in our kitchen as we sat and ate our evening meal. We were told to leave our bags there and they would be waiting for us at the finish line – no need to bring them anywhere. This was an intimate event in which we were all made to all feel like VIPs and there was an honesty and kindness in it all. “Welcome to the Coromandel”. 

After the exuberance of the road trip, now the tranquility and focus of the night before. I looked around the room; serial winner, Sue Crowley. Ring of Fire’s second-place woman, Kate Annan. The queens of Rotorua’s Whakarewarewa segments, Merrily Harris and Anna Longdill. The women here alone were formidable. We also had two of the most kick-ass men at the club, Mike Jolie and Tim Pickering, whose empty gel sachets I’m not worthy to lick –  we all knew what these guys were capable of and were excited to know how they would fair.

It was a strong group and if this was a team sport, I’d be looking around the locker room with an assurance that ‘we had this’. But as it was, I felt as if I was some competition winner who’d won a prize to stay at the athlete’s headquarters.

I was delighted to be there, no doubt. But now there was some embarrassment to it, as I reflected on my lack of training. There were doubts.

I cracked open a beer to calm my nerves, and all the eyes in the room turned to look at me in bewilderment. I always had a beer, I told myself. Carbs were good!

The alarm was set needlessly early, 3:30am for a 5:30am start – on our doorstep! But the time allowed us the luxury of not having to hurry, and before long we were walking down the driveway and across the road to the campsite for the start of the race. 

Myself, Ben and Iain started together. Ben and I had run the Tarawera 100km together and so knew we could tolerate each others conversation and pace, while for Iain this was his first official ultra. Between the three of us, there was a quiet acceptance that completion would represent mission accomplished.

The race started with a steady climb up the road; around 150m of vert in the first 4km – just enough to pinch – and soon enough we were getting our feet wet for the first time as we crossed a stream and entered the trails which took us high above the coastline.

 Dawn on the coast track

The sky started to break and we were treated to incredible sunrise views out over the Pacific Ocean to our left as we followed the walkway. Pohutukawa trees framed the trail while the rugged shoreline –beaten away by coastal erosion – made for dramatic views as statues and islands broke up the seascape and offered a contrast to the orange hue that was beginning to puncture the night sky. 

The early stages of the race were glorious and when we arrived at the first aid station at Stony Bay (24km) in under 2:45 there was certainly optimism.

Happy days! L to R: Iain Breadmore, Ben Alton (sporting his Wild Things shirt) & myself

Stony Bay was idyllic. As if we’d run into a postcard scene of an almost impossibly beautiful spot. Yet it was almost completely empty. The only two souls there were the two volunteers who had pop-up tables out the back of a car, with water and bananas. The willingness to attend our every need was something very lovely, as was the sound of the calming waters lapping up on the shoreline. But we had to move on.

The next section of the race would be on road, to the stunning Waikawau Bay. I had been camping with the family to Waikawau a couple of years ago and had fallen in love with the place, so I needed no extra motivation to drive on. We also knew that the 32km event would start from there at 10:30am, so we had a little over two hours to get there if we were to enjoy the welcome we would receive, should we arrive prior to them starting. It felt pretty attainable though we had little certainty, as we tried desperately to recount the course in all its stages and detail.

 Climbing out of Stony Bay

From Stony Bay, we endured a good few hundred metres of climbing, followed by the same in downhill on the other side. On the uphill I was trying not to fall into old habits with bad posture, but to try and keep upright and purposeful. It was some surprise that I was feeling good doing this; not only able to endure but to even find some rhythm. I was also making a real effort with fuelling after recent bad experiences and my ability to get food on board was energising in every sense.

We had been joined at Stony Bay by Katie and somewhere on the downhill I found myself running with her, while Ben and Iain had disappeared from view behind us. I wasn’t sure whether to hold back or carry on and wait for them at the aid station, but as the downhill leveled out into a flat section of about 4kms, the buses bringing the 32km runners passed us, cheering from the open windows. The combination of the runnable flats and the encouragement from onlookers squeezed 5:00/km pace out of us, and we could now begin to make out, through the haze, the beach up ahead.

I’d made it to the key transition point of the race in 4:25, with a 35-minute cushion prior to the race taking on additional runners. This was not my usual event – I was ahead of target but, crucially, feeling good.

I opted to make the stop a quick one and seize that advantage I’d given myself by running  (rather than walking) the sand. The beach section was around 2km and I had heard different views on the impact of fatigue running on sand, but I gambled and went for it. The sun was strong and beating down on my face. It felt pretty counterintuitive as I ran in a thermal long sleeve top and pulled a buff up over my ears, but I got to the far end, waded across the estuary and entered the welcome shade of the Matamataharakeke Track.

 Still feeling good, even on the soft sand

On my family camping trip, I had run this track daily so knew exactly what to expect. The trail would start with around 12 tempo-breaking stream crossings, before continuing on an earthy rutted-out track that climbed steeper and steeper, narrowing and eventually leading to a quad-burning set of steps that led to the lookout. But I was ready for it and chose to push as hard as I could up through here. It was the sort of track that, with the luxury of time, you would just pause and take in. Arrows of sunlight broke through the leafy canopy, fantails flitted and followed you as you ran, and the roots were like sculptures that cascaded from the banks, across the track like waterfalls.

The lookout opened into farmland and the views from here were seemingly endless; back across the beach and miles into the distance across dramatic hills that drove their way skyward.

If the race had ended now, most of us could tick that one off as a grueling off-road marathon, but what we had achieved to get here, was nothing compared to what was to come.

The razor backs. How to describe the razor backs?

Imagine the steepest 1km trail you know. Not so steep that you have to put your hands down, but steep enough that unless you lean forward you will fall backwards downhill. Now imagine that on rock and clay. This is what greeted us in the next section; one after another, after another. I lost count but we certainly hit double figures. Each climb followed by a short downhill, just enough to carry you to the next razor back, to start again.

I thought back to a previous me. How would I have coped with this five years ago? I also thought of Iain – how would he be feeling in his first ultra, having to deal with this? It was as big a mental test as I could imagine facing on this event. More difficult than I had imagined it might be and the most difficult section I’d ever faced on an event.

There was no way off the track, not out here. Failure was not an option. Each climb took you to a view across to the next, and it required determination and drive to push on and not let it beat you. The quickest way out was to just keep as much momentum as possible and get it done.

Once it was over, I was into more familiar forest again. It’s not often you feel comfort from the sense of being on the Western Okataina Walkway, but running through something undulating that reminded me of home was great for the soul and I eventually broke out into daylight and the last aid station, as Anna joined me.

One final climb took us up to panoramic views high about Coromandel Town, and the final 6km must surely all be downhill from here?

That would be too easy.

We entered the Kaipawa Trig track, which was a super-tight mesh of roots and earth that required you to pull yourself up and drop down continuously – a full body workout. There would barely have been 10 metres of running in here, before breaking into a section of downhill that was so steep, there could be no clear strategy but to hope for the best. I lost my footing a few times but kept upright somehow, lurching back and forward to find my balance as I skied down on the clay. Who needs poles?

The finish is somewhere down there!

A final 4km of helter-skelter winding, knee-thumping trail brought me out into the town itself and the much welcomed “2km to go” marker. I’m not sure who was smiling more, me or the marshal, but we shared a moment and with no-one either side of me, it was a lone-wolf finish to the end. 

Crossing the line to see the gang was a really great feeling. As we all hugged, I asked everyone how they had done. It had been a real day of achievements with Mike and Tim finishing 3rd and 4th and Sue and Merrily 2nd and 3rd women. I later found out I’d come 3rd in the Masters Men. 

I got my chance to cheer people in and when Iain crossed the line in under 11 hours, it was all smiles. He’d done it!  A really nice collective moment, we all enjoyed.

Rotorua had brought the best we could possibly give to this stunning region, and the Coromandel and the Great Kauri event had repayed us double.

Now, we could party hard!

And so, at 8:30pm, we brushed our teeth and collapsed into bed. There was always the van home to party.